


Not the Best Poet, Not the Worst Vampire

by JadedCoral



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2749703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedCoral/pseuds/JadedCoral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots concerning Anders and Mitchell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bear in mind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hi! :)  
> Here are a few one-shots I've posted on tumblr some time ago. AO3 just feels a tad bit more of an organized place to keep everything, so maybe I'll just post any future one-shots under this mess of a thing. Who knows?  
> Hope you enjoy reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gift Mitchell has left in Anders' office is giving the god a hard time.

It sits in his office, big, soulless, brown eyes staring, _staring_ at Anders where he stands frozen by the door. A sense of threat crawls down his spine and he shudders, daring not to break eye contact lest he’d give it the opportunity to do whatever devilry it had learned in the pits of hell from where it had spawned.

“What is that?” he dares to ask Dawn with barely a whisper when his PA comes to stand beside him to figure out why he wasn’t entering his office.

“A teddy bear, it would seem,” she says helpfully while giving Anders a look that perhaps questions his observation skills. _Of course_ it was a teddy bear. It was, after all, shaped very much like one, and was brown, and fluffy, and –oh dear _god_.

Held a white, stuffed heart in its paws that said ‘ _I love you_ ’.

For fucks sake!

“I _know_ that!” Anders hisses a bit distressed. “But what is it doing on my _desk_?”

She shrugs, rolling a strand of hair around her finger and checking for split ends to feign disinterest. “It was delivered to you while you were at the client meeting.”

They stand in silence after that, staring at the thing that is so against everything Anders’ life is about that it leaves him unsure how to approach it. He’s thinking that throwing it away wouldn’t be enough. Maybe burning it would do the trick, though unfortunately it would take more than gasoline and a spark to erase the sight of it from his retina.

“I think it’s rather cute, actually,” comments Dawn, making Anders snort.

“You would with your vagina,” he says and expects an annoyed huff and a retreat in return. The huff he gets, but it is followed with a tiny little smirk instead.

“It came with a letter, you know,” Dawn says and takes pleasure in the way Anders’ eyes widen.

“Dawn,” he says in warning, and, “ _Dawn_ ,” a bit more desperate when she dares to step into his office and walk to the desk, lifting the _thing_ up to take a letter from under its ass.

“Shall I read it out loud?” she asks as she’s already ripping the letter open, unfolding the paper it holds when Anders makes his way beside her to try and snatch it away. He gets a face full of the palm of his PA’s hand instead of the letter, and she keeps it too far away for him to reach it without using violence and he won’t, never, ever (never, never, ever) use violence against those weaker than him, least of all _Dawn_ , so he just whines the best he can.

“Dawnsie~”

“ _Dear Anders_ ,” she reads, the content of the letter already making her boss groan. “ _I rather enjoyed our one night stand. Or, to be more precise, all umpteen of them_.”

Dawn gives Anders a dry look, which he answers with a shrug and a grin. She shakes her head disapprovingly before continuing. “ _But you should also know that I’ve enjoyed drinking with you at the pub, and that I’ve enjoyed curing our hangovers together with bad television and greasy takeaway, and that I’ve enjoyed your laughs and sarcasm and every last awful innuendo_.”

When she coos he wants to flatten his ears against his head. Physically unable to do that, Anders just covers his face with his hands.

“ _In short, I enjoy_ you _, Anders Johnson, so be my valentine?_ ” she says high on romance, the smile on her face so filled with estrogen that fuck it if it doesn’t make her glow and look goddamn beautiful even when the last lines of the letter make it twitch just the slightest bit. “ _If not, we can always just fuck some more. Love, Mitchell.”_

“My god,” she breathes while quickly reading the letter again, “This must be your _soulmate_.”

“I think we should burn all of this,” Anders says quickly, successfully grabbing the letter this time but finding himself unable to rip it to pieces when he involuntarily reads the written lettering and finds that while Bragi despises the messy handwriting, the meaning of them and how they are put together pleases the god. And it _must_ be Bragi, because Anders won’t be romanced by this tacky _shit_ (not even if his cheeks feel a bit hot and his heart goes dk-dk-dk-dk-dk-).

“I think roses,” she says with a dreamy sigh and a hand resting on her cheek as she looks at a cotton candy pink dreamland that will never exist.

“Excuse me?” Anders asks as hastily as he’s stuffing the letter into his trouser pockets.

“She deserves them, Anders. Roses.”

Which makes him snort. “Mitchell is an overly tall lump of an Irish vampire, and certainly not a _she_ who deserves roses of all things,” he tries to enlighten his PA, who looks at him doubtfully.

“That letter could have very well been written by _you_ , Anders. It’s too good to be true and she-“

“He, Dawn,” Anders corrects her.

“ _They_ ,” she compromises, conflicted by the serious look on Anders’ face and the lengths he’s usually ready to go through to lie his way out of a situation. “Are perfect for you, and considering how you’re apparently intending to keep the letter, you might think so as well.”

If the tips of Anders’ ears grow a bit red, she doesn’t comment on it, instead cupping his cheek and saying in all sincerity, “I want you to be happy.”

“I don’t pay you to wish me happiness,” he mutters. “Especially not with a vampire. That’s dangerous, Dawn!”

When she raises an eyebrow and gives him the driest look yet, Anders huffs and stuffs his hand in his pocket to fish out his cellphone while careful not to let his fingers linger against the letter.

“Here, look,” he says while showing Dawn a picture of Mitchell.

“That. Is a picture of your couch,” she says questioningly.

“Yes, with Mitchell sitting on it. But vampires can’t be captured in pictures. You understand now?”

A somewhat awkward silence follows, during which Anders has time to realize that perhaps he’s just proven his lunacy more than he has anything else. It’s a relief it was only Dawn witnessing this moment, then.

“Red,” Dawn finally answers, pushing past him to walk to her own desk.

“What?” he asks a bit alarmed.

“I’m getting them red roses.” she says, already picking up the phone. “Also, we’re going for dinner, you and I and Ty and them.”

And any protests Anders might have she does not listen.

—

Ty looks, for the lack of a better description, like he’s trying not to puke laughter out of his mouth, while Anders spends much of the evening avoiding looking at anyone in his table troupe. In the meanwhile Dawn and Mitchell get along spectacularly well.

It’s a bit cruel, Ty admits, and he deserves every pinch Dawn gives him under the table when his chest trembles slightly from the held back laughter, but it’s too precious to see Anders trying his hardest to keep his little smiles at bay to not give the impression he’s just a tad bit smitten, while completely forgetting to add distance where his and Mitchell’s thighs are pressed together or to try and free his hand when Mitchell takes it into his own.  

This does not escape Dawn either, and when she leans close to Ty, whispering to his ear, “We’re keeping this one.”

All he can answer with is an, “ _Absolutely_.”

—

The bear, in all its awfulness, makes a home for itself in Anders’ office. It finds a place where everyone can see it, staring at anyone who dares to gain eye contact with it with its soulless once-dollar-store-then-hand-me-down-store-now-a-bane-of-Anders’-existense eyes, holding on tightly to the ‘I love you’ heart sewn on its paws and daring, _daring_ anyone to question whether or not Anders is loved.

And the answer to that question was whispered once upon a December against Anders’ heated skin to make it clear, that yes, absolutely, certainly, without a doubt, he is.

Very much so.


	2. Fishfood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders' fishes know the name of their god.

Anders is our god.

As far as we know, he has created a world for us to live in, and Anders upkeeps our existence by making food fall from the skies, and Anders is the kind entity that never taps on our glass walls to make waves upon waves of painful, rolling sounds of thk-thk-thk.

It’s a pity, then, that we don’t share a way to communicate other than us staring up to him, worshipping him when he comes and smiles at us simply swimming in circles as we do day after day. And we’re thinking, that even if we can never say anything to him to tell him how much he means to us, we are willing to swim in circles forever to make him smile.

Which might make you wonder –our lack of speech, that is- how can we possibly know the name of our god? And to be perfectly honest, we didn’t know until recently. Not until Mitchell came around.

You see, there is something constant about Mitchell, and little by little that constancy helped us to build the name of our god into something we could understand.

Anders. His name is Anders.

**A** nd we can hear the beginning of it in the, “ **A** h,” that leaves his mouth when Mitchell pushes him against a wall and swallows the sound before the breath of the aitch.

**N** ot far behind comes, “ **Nnn** ,” which he mumbles against Mitchell’s shoulder when he’s being lifted up the wall to be rutted against, which is, admittedly, a rather mammal approach to things but we _do_ understand the purpose behind it. They continue to do this day after night after morning, and we think we’ve now seen Anders smile at things other than us swimming in circles. Which is good, and we would be happy just knowing him as An. While it’s not his full name, we’re just happy to have grasped even a part of it.

**D** oes it stay that way, then? It doesn’t. It gets worse, and it gets worse quickly. The next sounds we get is fighting, and while we do try to hide behind the greenery Anders has planted for us, there’s no escaping the sounds of it. The third letter is your tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, just behind your teeth and it has such a foul taste to it when it’s used to day, “ **D** ick,” and, “ **D** etest,” and, “ **D** on’t come back”. And when the front door is banged shut, it is also the desperate, “ **D** -“ of an unfinished, “ _Don’t leave me_.”

**E** in turn is sometimes the only letter of, “h **e** lp” and, “m **e** ,” that he utters out loud when the emptied bottles make him pass out on his kitchen floor.

**R** ight now things might seem rather gloomy, we know, but for such smart creatures, humans can be rather daft. Anders and Mitchell take their time, but when the door is opened by Mitchell again, we hear the rolling sound of his accent as he says, “So **rr** y,” over and over again to teach us better. “I’m so so **rr** y.”

**S** o we come to the end of the name of our god, and we find forgiveness from it. It is a soothing, “ **S** hh,” we can barely hear, partly because it doesn’t carry far, not with the barriers between our worlds, but mostly, we think, because it is Mitchell’s to keep.

And that’s how we know his name is Anders.

Next you might wonder of Mitchell, then. How do we know his name, and why would we bother to build one for him when he’s not our god?

Maybe we ought to go in order, and start from the first, because having learned Anders, learning Mitchell was now much easier for us. The beginning is similar to that of Anders, a deep, “Mm,” to express his content when his mouth is claimed upon arriving home.

In next place we have the rather odd sounds of the hiccups he gets, and we only bother to pay attention to this, because that is one of the things that Mitchell does that makes Anders laugh uncontrollably. We suspect we don’t understand the whole reason for the laughter, but it doesn’t stop us from being happy.  

The next three get mashed into a one sound that leaves Anders when he sneezes loudly one evening, and continues to do so until Mitchell has made sure he gets better.

E is the confusion in, “Eh?” when they keep finding little things the other has left for them, us spying both of them being curiously baffled by any romancing attempts and continuously wondering what the other can possibly see in them. This is a matter we fail to understand at all, but then again, what do we know about mammal rituals?

Lastly there are two of the same ones, and at first we thought that the sound of our waters swallowing the ship Mitchell carelessly drops into our home was sufficient enough to describe it. There’s a blob and a slump, and displeased, we think that is all Mitchell is going to deserve from us, especially when he looks at us through the glass and taps our walls when we understandably try to stay as far away from him as possible.

But that’s not how we keep it. And it’s not because we have bad memories and don’t know how to hold a grudge, but because when Anders comes home and sees our new decoration, the expression on his face is something beyond a smile. We can’t name it, because we’re not quite sure what it is, but if we were to guess, we’d say that is was the completion of whatever mammal rituals they had been trying to go through.

So we don’t leave the end of Mitchell to the sound of slump. Because we can be as forgiving as the end of our god, and because we will make the best of Mitchell just to make Anders smile. So we end him to the beginning of the word they whisper between the letters, “I,” and, “U”.

And that’s how we know.

As for the second question, as to why we would bother to learn Mitchell’s name at all when he isn’t our god? That is simply because he’s a constant and makes Anders smile in ways that we never can, and it’s a wonderful, wonderful thing.

Because Anders is our god.

And we suspect he might be Mitchell’s as well.


	3. Coffee time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick assumptions lead to misunderstandings, near breakups and quite a lot of idiocy.

It’s probably their fifth date. Or _not_ a date, if Anders keeps on insisting they’re just meeting for light refreshments while making idle chitchat and glancing at each other through lashes while smiling shyly because just looking at the other’s face makes them feel smitten. But, ‘ _semantics_ ,’ is what Anders has got to say to that, which is pretty rich coming from the God of Poetry.

So rewind and toss the ‘ _semantics’_ , they’re sitting at one of the many fast-food restaurants littered all over Auckland, drinking cheap coffee because it’s all Mitchell can afford right now and if Anders says ‘ _Credit Card_ ’ one more time he’s going to react to the word like vampires do to silver.

And Mitchell would know all about that, despite Anders telling him that it’s actually a platinum card, which does absolutely _nothing_ to make Mitchell feel better about it.

Yet Anders may complain all he wants, his voice coated with sarcasm when he says, ‘Gotta stay classy,’ but when Mitchell allows him to order anything that costs less than three dollars, ‘cause, ‘Anything for you, babe,’ the god starts to laugh, and really, the worth of that can’t be measured in dollars or threes at all because it’s in a class of its own.

They’re in this delicate stage in what Mitchell is hesitant to call a relationship because of how Anders reacts to the word ‘ _date_ ’ and all, but for the lack of a better word, their _relationship_ is either growing to something where they’re starting to become exclusive and seeing each other more and more, which would be admittedly _nice_. Or then-

Or then something else might happen which Mitchell is not sure he wants to even think about, or _can’t_ think about because sometimes looking at Anders makes him forget nasty little things life likes to throw at him so much. So Mitchell doesn’t worry, doesn’t think much when he smiles at Anders and dares to push his luck and stretch his legs under the table enough that they’re touching those of Anders’.

And that, he fears, is what sets off the inevitable bomb, when a little gasp leaves Anders like the beginning of a sentence the birth of which is killed by hesitation. When he tries again after clearing his throat, he’s much more successful, saying, “Look, Mitchell,” which freezes the vampire right up.

Because this doesn’t sound too good.

It gets much worse when Anders continues, “You’re a really good rut, I give you that, and a nice guy, I suppose, you know, for being a vampire and all, but-“

No. Not the nice guy speech. This is it, this is Mitchell floating high because he’s smitten and then crashing down on asphalt from the top floor once Anders says that he’s not really interested in taking things any further than they’ve already gone.

So to save him the pain, Mitchell quickly speaks over whatever soft falls Anders has prepared for him, saying, “I understand,” because he does, _really_ does. He knows Anders is smart, and it ain’t smart to hang around a vampire. Not at all.

“Do you now?” Anders asks a bit doubtfully, carefully watching him as he sips his coffee from an ugly plastic cup.

“I-“ Mitchell begins, swallows in the middle and does not look at Anders when he continues, “I kinda knew it would come to this, you know?”

“To what?” Anders asks, now considerably more nervous, not that Mitchell can see it from his own fidgeting.

“Look,” the vampire collects himself, drawing in a calming breath that does not lessen his disappointment. “We can both agree we had a good time and just- well, move on, I suppose.”

When he dares to risk a glance, Mitchell can see Anders staring at him with his blue eyes wide like he was not expecting this at all, which in turn makes Mitchell frown and probably look much too intense again because Anders soon looks away again, saying, “Look, I know I can be a complete dick at times-“

“No, no,” Mitchell interrupts him, wanting to reach out and take Anders’ hand when he says in all sincerity, “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Now Anders looks genuinely _hurt_ , which was not Mitchell’s intention at all, so he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“ _You_! You’re all wrong!” Anders suddenly snarls, sadness long gone and hate raising to take its place, “I’m getting dumped in a piece of shit place like this after forcing down this piss you insist is coffee, what the hell is up with that!?”

“What?” Mitchell too raises his voice, adopting the anger for reasons beyond him because he’s already let the thought of their _beneficial association_ ending fill his brain and now nothing makes sense again. “You’re the one dumping _me_ , you prick!”

“Just how am I dumping you!?”

“Oh, like you’ve ever heard ‘ _You’re a nice guy but-_ ‘ being followed with anything but ‘ _It’s not working out so kindly piss off and have a nice day_ ’, eh?”

“You say it like your ‘ _It’s not you, it’s me_ ’ is any better!” Anders snaps back while slamming his fist against their cheap table that would probably thankfully break before any of Anders’ bones did. They’re silent after that, before Anders buries his face into his hands and mutters something that might sound something along the lines of, ‘Fucking John Mitchell, prince of fast assumption, fucking _fuck_ , almost had a heart attack.’

“What were you trying to say, then?” Mitchell asks, crossing his hands against his chest and slumping on his chair, because he’s feeling moody now, and so his body does its best to act along.

When Anders appears from behind his hands he’s armed with a glare when he says, “I was saying that I want to get into your pants. I want to get into them so badly that I want to constantly wear them –provided your skinny arse jeans fit me, of course- while you’re left lying butt naked on my bed unable to go about your day because you’re a poor ass bastard whose only pants I’m now wearing and you can’t go out lest you want to be arrested of public indecency.”

“What is that supposed to even _mean_!?” Mitchell despairs, quickly going through the catalogue of his clothes in his head to have basis on his argument that no, he owns at least two pair of jeans but then remembering that no, not after Anders broke the zipper of the other ones in his haste to get Mitchell naked.

Before Anders has the time to open his mouth and let out another one of his odes the world can do without, Mitchell shushes him, “You know what, just shut up. Because here’s the thing, right? I like you. And I want to shag you, and only you, because I like you –are you getting this?- and in my honest opinion, the two of us should stick together, because we’re fucking amazing.”

“And within your goddamn honest opinion you should probably meet my brothers as well, is it?” Anders asks drily to challenge him, his voice calming down in volume but not in aggression.

“Yes I would _damn_ well love to meet your brothers, Anders Johnson!” Mitchell barks back, gripping his now empty coffee cup so tight that it crumbles into an unusable mess.

Their glaring doesn’t continue for long, because soon Anders lifts his hand to cover his mouth and first he’s chuckling, and then laughing, instantly affecting Mitchell with his mood change because again, this is something the worth of which cannot be measured in cheap plastic cups or platinum credit cards.

“ _God_ , we’re idiots,” the god laughs, leaning in when Mitchell nods and mutters an affectionate, ‘ _C’mere_ ,’ freezing only for a seconds and a half when Bragi slips through Anders’ lips in words, “Don’t even think about it,” but then grabbing Mitchell’s hair to pull him into a rough kiss while the teenage girls sitting at a table next to theirs put their mobile phones away obediently before any of them had the change to snap a picture.

And as that concludes their fifth date, and yes it’s officially a _date_ now, no matter how ‘ _shite_ ’ Anders insists it had been, Mitchell thinks it went rather well. At least if compared to the _first_ time they got together. 


	4. The truth of it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Anders wishes Mitchell wouldn't listen to what he says.

The truth of it is that sinking into Mitchell goes beyond just satisfying sexual desires.

It comes with a sense of power that _he_ , deemed to be a minor god, a powerless vessel, would bring such a creature onto his knees, ram into him and have him moan helplessly on the hallway floor just as the front door closes so that world won’t see what animals they become when the thrusting and writhing doesn’t cease even when he comes hard and deep inside Mitchell. Anders thinks he could die like this. He could die watching his cum fall out of Mitchell’s ass once he pulls his cock out and how Mitchell reaches back desperately to collect it onto his fingers to try push it back inside himself.

It makes him feel needed when they are so desperate that they barely make it to the back seat of his SUV while devouring each other, having no time to remove any more clothes after Mitchell’s jeans have dropped around his ankles and Anders’ zipper has been pulled down. The car rocks so violently that later he might think it’s a miracle the anti-theft alarm didn’t go off, but for now all he can think about is how this is what he wants for the rest of his life to be like, this feeling of being the one Mitchell was so willing to be filled by.

It teaches him not only what it is like to be trusted when he takes out his box of toys and receives a nod from the naked being tied to his bed, but also his own trustworthiness when he gives Mitchell a safeword but never a reason for him to use it.

It has him show he can be selfless and patient when it’s been a while since their positions have been the other way around and Anders flips them so that he is on his back and spreading his legs because _god_ , he misses the feeling of being taken yet can’t complain when instead of reading correctly into the willing submission below him, Mitchell prepares himself and rides Anders into oblivion.

It makes him realise that variety is not just about the different positions they fuck in or the amount of toys they play with, but ultimately this spontaneous give and take which he doesn’t know to appreciate until he’s truly had it and lost it when he tries his hardest to seduce Mitchell but keeps ending up being emptied instead of filled by the other.

It forces him to reconsider the rants about consent Mike used to go on and on about ever since Anders had turned 21 and was a bit high on his power, but never like this, never dancing on such a fine line and thin ice when in his attempts he manages to find himself between a wall and Mitchell’s body, but instead of lifting Anders up against it Mitchell drops to his knees. And instead of Mitchell’s name on his lips he comes down the other’s throat with a choked, ‘ _don’t_ ,’ while Mitchell doesn’t come at all.

Ultimately it makes him feel like the monster of the two when he comes home one day and finds Mitchell asleep on the couch, his tired eyes cracking open when Anders goes to stand beside the edge of the furniture against which the other’s legs are resting while smiling down softly at him. Mitchell blinks slowly, sighs and spreads his legs before he hides his face into the crook of his elbow. Like he thinks he’s giving Anders what he wants even though he’s tired and obviously not in the mood for it, instead of raising lust making Anders’ throat constrict and the back of his eyes burn when this wave of sadness that’s the only thing that never left him comes back to take him in its hold.

Because whatever Mitchell might think of him, this is not what Anders is. He’s not some mindless animal that knows nothing else than how to fuck things up. He was born with a name and personality and ambitions just like everyone else, and just because he isn’t quite sure how to show it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care!

And so it has him swallow down whatever pride it was that kept him from speaking and ask, “What’s wrong?” because this is not something they are going to survive if neither of them will ever bring it up.

From the way Mitchell looks at him he can tell the tone of his voice is showing the beginnings of his uncontrollable attack, and when the other slowly says, “Nothing,” Anders has to sink his nails into his palms to maintain enough composure so that he can walk away before crumbling to pieces. Not that it does him any good when the bloody bloodhound catches the scent of his self-caused injury and follows him into the bedroom where Anders slumps to sit on the edge of the bed and holds his head between his hands as if that’d help him keep onto his sanity.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, coming to stand next to Anders. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Anders replies so bitterly that he cannot possibly make it any more obvious what a lie he had just told.

“Anders,” Mitchell says while kneeling down in front of him and gently prying Anders’ hands away from where they are clutching his own hair a bit too tightly because a little bit of pain is tons better than the tremors and shaking that are sure to start if he doesn’t find another outlet for the gathering storm. “Anders, what’s wrong?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” he bites out vehemently enough for Mitchell to realise his own words were being used against him. And he does look sorry about it, bringing Anders’ hands to rest against his temples instead to pull on his dark hair as much as he wants if only it’d help the wave of sadness pass on as quickly as possible.

“Tell me,” the other insists when the only thing hurting him is the lack of Anders’ reaction. They can’t read each other like this. Not with barely there honesty and avoidance of the problems that are there but both seem unable to address.

“ _You_ are the problem,” Anders finally says and instantly feels the weight of his defeat. He won’t cry, but his throat feels too tight for him to breathe. “Something’s changed. You- you won’t touch me. Not like you used to. And you say there’s nothing wrong with that!”

Mitchell blinks at him, once, twice, before he chuckles in a way that makes Anders’ heart break more than he’s willing to admit. “You mean I won’t top anymore?” Anders can hear the other try to confirm through the blood rushing in his ears. “Don’t you remember?”

He doesn’t remember anything that might have led to such an arrangement, and to work on their communication he shakes his head weakly and tries not to choke on the smile on Mitchell’s face.

“I think maybe your brothers had teased you about us a bit, I’m not sure, but you said to me that bottoming is emasculating and that you –and I quote- ‘ _ain’t gonna go for it anymore_.’”

“I don’t remember at all,” Anders confesses. “When was this?”

Mitchell’s gaze wanders to some upper corner of the room as he makes an effort to remember, returning to Anders once he has adequate enough an answer. “Three months or so ago. I think you were off celebrating with Ty for some reason or another.”

“ _Fuck_ , Mitchell!” Anders breathes out in what he doesn’t know if it’s relief or something else entirely. “I was drunk off my tits back then! You know better than to listen to me when I’ve had more than a few.”

It’s what he wants to believe anyway, but from the way Mitchell averts his gaze he’s not so sure anymore, not when the other mutters, “I don’t mind.”

“What? You don’t mind listening to me when I speak asininities you know for a fact I disagree with come morning?” Tugging at the other’s hair now, not to fight the lingering sadness but to make some sense appear into that head he held in his hands. “There’s more to it than that. Tell me.”’

Shaking his head in its restricted place, Mitchell looks at him with a sad smile when he says, “I don’t think it’s something you want to hear.”

“Well you’re wrong,” Anders insists which makes the other sigh and take his while before he apparently gives up and just goes for it.

“Topping or bottoming, I don’t mind either way as long as it’s you I’m with,” Mitchell says before he hesitates enough to make Anders run out of patience and demand an, “And?” even though his heart races fast enough that it feels like his attack is going to worsen.

“And,” Mitchell procrastinates when his resolve is non-existent and the fear of something is so evident on his face that it almost makes Anders let him walk away with his secrets. “And sometimes, when you’re drunk, you tell me- you tell me that you love me,” he says, looking up shyly through his lashes.

“And I like to think that you do, so I listen to you,” Mitchell finishes after which there is only dead silence between them.

There is no fighting against the trembling that takes a hold of his hands now. Not after being confronted by an issue he has been pushing aside ever since he learned the world was not that kind a place to live in. He’s known from the beginning that Mitchell deserves better than someone like him who never confirms these things out loud, takes things for granted for as long as he’ll have them and tells himself, ‘ _I knew it_ ,’ when they all walk away.  

But they’re here now, talking, being honest for once in their lives and Anders knows he has to bring closure to this insecurity between them if he wants what is best for both himself and the being kneeling in front of him.

So come what may, he chokes out the truth behind those drunken words while ailing with panic, yes, but at least sober enough to this time remember what he said and how Mitchell reacted to hearing it.

And while honesty might not be the virtue of either of them, it’s eventually what saves them from each other.


	5. Coffee time 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kind of morning that makes them shut down rather than wake up.

It’s 6am and the only thing on Mitchell’s mind is coffee as he turns his keys on the lock and finally steps inside the apartment after a long and tedious shift at work. As he takes off his shoes there’s also room to dream of bacon, and by the time he’s making his way into the kitchen area he’s full on making love to carbohydrates somewhere at the back of his mind.

The coffeemaker is easy enough to turn on, but its slow dripping does not work well with his current lack of patience. To make the time go faster he puts pieces of bread into the toaster and tosses a packet of bacon onto a cold frying pan. This is hardly his culinary skills at their best, but it’ll do to help him feel less comatose for sure.

Just as the frying pan is starting to heat up enough for the heap of bacon to let out little sizzles and Mitchell is reaching out for a spatula with the plan to perhaps poke his meal a bit just upkeep pretenses that he’s actually cooking, something collides softly against his back.

The bacon, however, needs his full attention now because god help him if it burns into something inedible there will be consequences.

“Mornin’,” mumbles the thing whose forehead and nose are now gently pressing against the line of Mitchell’s spine, the voice of him as exhausted as would the visual presentation behind him be would the vampire bother to turn around.

“Go back t’ sleep,” he says back with a voice unkind to his throat as it almost rasps its way from out of his mouth.

The only response he gets is the head rubbing against him in dismissal and more pressure being added in the shape of a cheek and a shoulder leaning heavily against him, pushing him a bit closer to the stove. There’s nothing to it, then. Mitchell knows his current priorities, so he ignores whatever is behind him and goes to make an attempt to turn the heap of bacon around to attain that perfect, fried look on each side. In the meanwhile the toaster announces it is done with his bread.

Mitchell reaches for the bread with the hand not busy with a spatula to get some of that golden goodness inside him, dry and hot as it may be, but this opens up a window of opportunity for something to slither its way from behind him, under his armpit and right in front of him.

“Pay attention to me,” the barricade between him and his toast seems to say.

Reluctantly Mitchell shifts his gaze from the awaiting toast to look down at Anders who stands there in nothing but his boxer-shorts, arms now wrapped around his torso and chin leaning against Mitchell’s chest. Morose, Mitchell says, “Never come between a vampire and his prey.”

“I come between you all the time,” seems to be the wittiest Anders can get while struggling to keep his eyes open. When he seems to decide to close them just for half a minute, he’s quick to fall asleep before his head nods to the side and he’s startled awake again.

To show his disapproval, Mitchell goes for a quick, painless bite on Anders’ nose, his quick reflexes enough to dodge the retaliation coming in the form of a kiss which to the disappointment of Anders land on Mitchell’s stubble instead of lips.

They don’t say much after that, Mitchell continuing with his struggle to cook now with the added challenge of having Anders hanging off of him, and Anders struggling to stay awake. When the bacon is something between raw and burnt, the toast has cooled out of its purpose and the coffee has done dripping, Mitchell tosses what is edible onto a plate while the coffee gets a mug, turns around in Anders’ hold and starts for the sofa where he can sink into the cushions while eating his well-prepared breakfast.

Anders blindly grabs a hold of the hem of his plaid shirt and follows him much like a duckling, pressing heavily against Mitchell even when the other is just halfway sitting down and placing his meal on the living room table. When Mitchell’s head hits the couch cushions Anders is already fast asleep with his face hiding somewhere between Mitchell’s ear and shoulder.

Longingly watching the steam rise from his freshly made coffee he put down on the table but can’t now reach after leaning back on the couch, Mitchell knows how little of an effort it would take to sit back up straight and grab the beverage, but damned if his eyelids don’t feel too heavy for comfort now that he feels utterly relaxed.

So instead of reaching for what would help him wake up, he opts for the blanket lying nearby and covers both Anders and himself with it.

‘Just a little nap,’ he’s thinking when he closes his eyes. ‘Just for a little bit.’

The coffee might slowly turn cold in the meanwhile, but the same does not apply to Mitchell. Not with the heat of Anders pressed against him as they sleep well into the noon.


	6. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Mitchell meets Anders' family happens to also be the first time they share a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed all the happiness and rainbows I could muster. TuT

“Anders ye fecking _gobshite_!”

Four brothers and one grandpa along with the rest of the bar’s occupants turn to look at the entrance where stands a man who looks like this is not one of the jolliest days of his life. His stare is intense and just a little bit stark crazy as he rakes through the people in the bar, gaze stopping when he spots Anders and the scowl on his face intensifying if at all possible.

“Uh-oh,” says Anders while leaning over the backrest of his chair in his attempt to see who had called his name.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” Axl enquires while rising to the opportunity to snatch more chicken wings onto his plate now that his brothers were distracted. They had been in the middle of a ‘ _Thing_ ’, but it had stopped short when a battle for the food had commenced. And for a good reason too. These things were delicious!

“What? Piss off?” Anders asks far too quickly, snatching the best sauce from out of Axl’s reach before saying defensively, “I didn’t piss of anyone!”

“Doesn’t look like that from where I’m sitting,” Mike comments, leaning back against the old, worn leather couch he shares with Ty, raising a bottle of beer against his smirking lips before saying, “Actually, it looks like you’re about to get exactly what’s coming to you.”

“And what exactly do you think _is_ coming to me, brother mine?” Anders asks with a mocking frown.

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure he’s involved,” Mike says like he’s about to witness a good show when the man with a flair for dramatic entrances and an apparent taste for black clothes with the exception of a hideous, yellow T-shirt has made his way through the bar and now stands behind Anders, looking down at his brother like he’s about to murder him.

Not that any of them would let it go that far. Deserved ass-whooping is all well and good. Murder, not so much.

“Hel-“ Anders starts to say as he tilts his head to look up at the man, and, “-lo?” he finishes his greeting as he’s pulled from his chair by the collar of his expensive dress shirt, the eyes of his brothers widening at the show of such inhuman strength used to crush Anders into a hug. The face of the scary man dives into the crook of their brother’s neck and if one listened carefully, they did not miss the small squeal-like sound muffled there.

“Oi, you lump!” Anders tries to say sternly while unable to stop laughing, hitting at the man’s shoulder with the palm of his hand as he tries to wriggle free. “Lemme go!”

The next time the man surfaces, he doesn’t look as scary anymore. Not with the brilliant smile on his face and how his eyes are rimmed red with overwhelming emotions.

“I got it,” he’s saying to Anders with a little added sniff. “I got your gift.”

“So I gathered,” their brother responds, the tone of his voice dry though his expression is anything but. They then proceed to stare at each other deep in the eye, the air around them thickening with _something_ that makes Olaf cover the eyes of the youngest Johnson as the seconds keep ticking by.

“What’s going on?” Axl asks confused.

“I could kiss you,” says the man to Anders with eyes that should belong to the bedroom and not in respectable public houses such as they were currently in.

“It was just a crappy old TV I got from a client,” Anders downplays it while breaking their eye contact so that he could stare at his shoes instead, which makes both Olaf and Mike lean forward on their seats as if to better see what is actually going on. Surely this is not _their_ Anders Johnson.

Meanwhile Ty shifts uncomfortably. “I’m starting to feel like such a voyeur,” he complains but quickly gets shushed by Olaf.

“Oh cut your Kiwi crap, you _know_ how much it means to me,” the other argues, cupping Anders’ cheeks between his hands to lift his gaze from the floor before grinning, “Now, about that kiss-”

Before he has the time to take his suggestions any further, Anders scowls at the man and detaches his hands from his face, saying, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And why not?” asks the other frowning, the intense look with which he had entered the bar back on his face.

Mike is biting his fist by now, the corner of his lips quirking up in what is unmistakably something akin to glee. When Ty smacks him on the thigh for it, he only slaps him back on the arm.

“I’m not going to kiss you in front of my brothers while having barbeque sauce smeared all over my face!” Anders snaps his reasons, looking like his annoyance is justified and that anyone should understand it.

But they don’t. Because Mike bursts out laughing while Ty says with mock surprise, “I’d no idea you were such a romantic.”

Beet red now, Anders quickly tries to save face by stating, “Only when it matters,” which works against him when it nurtures a smile so wide on the black clad man’s face that is almost looks painful. Even Ty is chuckling by now.

Between a rock and a hard place, Anders growls out a, “Screw you people,” before he’s lifted from the ground and spun around so that his brothers are left behind the back of the taller man in whose arms he now finds himself for the second time this evening. Next, his mouth-area is being wiped with the sleeve of a well-worn leather jacket, which is neither a pleasant nor efficient way to clean him up in his humble opinion, but when he’s asked, “Are the conditions better now?” he thinks for a second before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, sure. Why the hell not?”

And so they kiss, softly at first and a bit fiercer when they get the taste of it and decide it is likeable.

“Oi! I can’t see!” Olaf complains, though it is pretty obvious what is going on when Anders’ hand goes to grip at the messy curls of his romantic acquaintance.

“I can’t either!” Axl says and squirms a bit in his grandpa’s hold.

At least half-aware of where they are, Anders slowly pulls away from what he’d call a four out of five stars worth of air loss, resting his forehead against the other’s while being infected by the smile on his face.

“Thank you,” the other says between deep, content breaths, before running his tongue along his own lips as if to taste himself. “That’s a pretty good tasting barbeque sauce, though.”

“Best in town,” Anders says with a hitch in his voice from barely kept in laugher.

“Just like you,” the other says with a smile warm enough to melt Anders into an unrecognizable puddle. “Might have to get another taste.”

“Oh my _god_!” Ty wails while covering his ears.

“Just _stop_ already!” Mike agrees while sporting a slight flush of embarrassment of his own.

“Get a room!” Olaf advices them.

“What? What happened!?” Axl asks desperately while still being held in the dark.

The two men turn to look at their audience as if having forgotten they were there in the first place.

“Who are these, then?” the man asks Anders while unwilling to let the blond go from his embrace no matter if it seems to be what Anders wants now that he’s regained his sense of awareness.

“My brothers and cousin,” Anders says while rolling his eyes. “Well, I say cousin, but he’s more of a grandpa, really.”

“Anders!” Mike angers easily, his glare not faltering even if Anders waves a careless hand in his direction like all was well.

“Ooh, this is perfect!” the man rejoices, _actually_ quite enthusiastic. “I can ask them if I’ll have the permission to date you.”

“Shut up!” Anders barks and kicks him on the shin. “I’ll date you with or without their permission.”

Letting Axl go now that the danger of him witnessing adult rated material was over, Olaf leans back on his seat and gestures for the man to sit down, which he does with a grin, taking the seat Anders had occupied before being yanked off it by the man himself, leaving the blond without one. Grumpily he mutters something about the lack of manners and goes to get himself a chair from another table.

“Well go on, then,” Olaf says while stretching out his hand for shaking. “Let’s see if you’re worth our Anders.”

Grinning, the man takes the hand offered to him and introduces himself as, “Mitchell.”

And from thereon it goes downhill pretty quickly as far as Anders is concerned, with Mitchell telling his brothers and grandpa how they’d been friends with growing tensions until their first kiss just now and how he had all the hope and intention to see if he got lucky tonight, provided Anders allowed Mitchell to follow him home.

Anders’ only joy was seeing the painful looks momentarily passing his brothers’ faces as they listened.

And just to prolong that little spark of joy, he sent them texts the next morning stating that _no_ , Mitchell had not gotten lucky last night.

But Anders had.


	7. Blessings and Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Anders first meets Mitchell, things don't go that well.

Anders had always known that the stupid ideas he got during the heights of regular inebriation would eventually get him killed. He guessed that, despite being technically a god, it’s because the closest he would ever get to feeling like immortality was rushing through his veins was when his liver couldn’t keep up and ethanol got into places it perhaps shouldn’t. Like say, his brain for instance, where bad ideas then turned into good ones, making even Lady Fate look like a damned sexy wench whom he would very much like to tempt.

At this moment and time, it looked like Mitchell would probably be the last such mistake he’d ever make. But it wasn’t like Anders could’ve helped himself. Or maybe he might’ve tried to help himself into the man’s jeans just a tad too much and with an admirable amount of determination, rather. Either way.

It went something like this: He had exited through the wrong door when trying to escape the inferno inside the public house that had made the interesting decision to keep its air conditioning off during one of the worst heat waves of the year. Because of that, instead of the main road filled with city lights, passing cars and other unfortunate souls crawling from a pub to the next, Anders had stumbled out on to the less attractive back alley, which stank of garbage and potential headlines of the morning paper telling the public of a murder that had occurred on this very same spot.

There wasn’t much time to give the latter much more thought, however, because upon searching his person for cigarettes and finding none, Anders decided to turn to the vague shape loitering within the shadows of the alley to ask for one.  

“Sure,” the man had said, offering him one from his pack, and good merciful lord was he stupidly good-looking rolling his eyes at Anders when he had asked for a light. “Do you want me to smoke it for you as well?”

What a poster-boy, Anders almost giggled, leaning in a bit too close to the offered fire because it was hard trying to fight for his balance when it felt like he was gravitating towards both the man and the ground. The other seemed to hesitate first before taking a step back, and he was a fool if he thought Anders didn’t see his eyes linger on his neck when he went to loosen his cravat and unbutton the upmost button of his shirt.

“You’re the second most handsome guy out here,” he told the pretty thing, and it’s true. When that made the guy smile, Anders was even willing to consider sharing the place of first most handsome, because he always had this urge to try and impregnate all good-looking things and he was currently just drunk enough to forget there was this persona he’s supposed to upkeep and that some truths about himself should be kept buried somewhere deep where even ethanol couldn’t get into after bypassing his failing liver. That he’s always appreciated beauty as beauty, no matter the form it took, and how much of a shame it was to consciously halve his look for potential lovers just because of some social stigma.

‘ _Better to halve them_ ,’ Bragi might have thought, or then it was Anders himself, who knew. ‘ _You’ll never be able to have them all anyway_.’

No, he could agree, but this one he might.

“Considering all the competition,” the man said while gesturing at the empty alley, “I’m pretty happy with second place.”

And that had sparked conversation. Anders had learned the man’s name was Mitchell (“And your forename?”, “Just Mitchell”, “’ _Just_ ’, is it?”, “You can do better than that, funny man”, “You’re probably just embarrassed because it’s something boring like ‘ _John’_ ”, “…”) and that he’s Irish and not really interested and looking for a job and just moved to New Zealand and honestly not looking for anything like that at all please could Anders just give up already but how could he when Mitchell was unable to keep himself from smiling like that or from looking at Anders’ collar bones while unconsciously licking his lips.

He wouldn’t let go. He _wanted_ this one, and there’s no way in hell he’d allow a tush like _that_ walk away from him even if the man said, “Trust me, you want nothing to do with the likes of me.”

Which was a stupid thing to say. Anders hardly trusted his family, let alone complete strangers. Also, he’s pretty convinced he wanted everything to do with the likes of this fine specimen after all self-censoring filters inside his head had shut down. So he wouldn’t let go. He would not.

As it turned out, though, aside from gorgeous, this Mitchell fellow was also a blood thirsty vampire.

Anders could first see it in Mitchell’s pitch black eyes which matched the poorly lit alley, making him realize a moment too late that if these were the windows to the man’s soul, then he was probably screwed because currently it looked like there was nothing inside. Least of all self-control. _That_ he could feel in the way his throat was seized in an unforgiving grip, his head almost cracking against the tile wall Mitchell pushed him against and the way his lungs were screaming for air after the supply had been cut short.

And all he could think of was the irony of that the onetime trusting would have hurt less than doubt and cynicisms, he’s going to get killed by his own survival methods.

“You should’ve listened,” the vampire said against his neck, no triumph in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

Sharp teeth then pierced his skin.

There’s nothing else to it. Anders was going to get sucked dry by a fucking vampire and come morning his body would be discovered in the midst of filth and trash by the barkeep and not a soul would be surprised that this was how his life had ended. He knew he wasn’t exactly protagonist material, but Anders would have preferred his ending to a bit be more of a tragedy. People liked a good tragedy. It moved them to tears and had them show empathy towards the one who had faced it. It inspired books and movies.

Nobody gave a second thought to self-inflicted misfortune.

Unable to do anything else, he shut his eyes tightly and waited for the inevitable.

Which never came, because as soon as Mitchell had bitten him, he drew back coughing, letting go of Anders’ neck as he stumbled back. Anders fell on his ass, quickly reopening his eyes to see what was going on. Had someone come to his rescue? Did someone care enough to do that?

Mitchell spit three times before wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his jacked aggressively. There was still nobody else around.

“W-what?” Anders asked, bringing his hand instinctively to the gaping wound on his neck to prevent the eventual blood loss, even though the feeling of his disgustingly warm and pulsing blood underneath his palm was making him feel more shaky and nauseous than the actual pain of the wound.

“Shit.” Mitchell cursed, shaking his head and gripping his hair. “Shit!”

Then he turned to look at Anders, his eyes widening in horror before he rushed to his side. “I’m _so_ sorry! I let my nature overtake me again. But I did try to warn you.”

As if that’s any excuse, Anders wanted to scoff. How was he supposed to know he had a reason to run away when he didn’t even know what he was up against? But instead of saying anything witty, he just ended up groaning something illegible.

“Here, just- just let me close that for you,” Mitchell said sounding a bit panicked. He removed Anders’ hand from the wound despite his half-assed protests and leaned in. And then fucking _licked_ at the gaping wound.

Granted, whatever the science was behind what Mitchell was doing felt like it was working, because the flow of blood petered out which made Anders feel less like he was dying, though it didn’t make it any less weird. Still, Anders sighed in relief. In the meanwhile, Mitchell proceeded to crouch down beside him and vomit on the asphalt.

“Fucking hell, that’s _disgusting_ ,” The vampire managed to wheeze out through his gagging just as the pub’s back door burst open and a group of three beautiful giggling young women (a perfect set, Anders noted, consisting of a brunette, a blonde, a redhead and an average breast size of a solid C) almost fell down the one step leading to the alley. Gaining eye contact with Anders, however, had all of them come to a sudden halt, their instantly vary gazes shifting between the blond holding his apparently bleeding neck and the miserable brunet heaving next to him. Slowly and without a word, they took a step back and closed the door behind them, leaving Anders alone with Mitchell again.

“Gods but you’re starting to _piss me off_!” Anders stated and kicked Mitchell on the shin to demonstrate his frustrations. “You must be the worst fucking thing that has ever happened to me, and that’s saying a lot.”

“For fucks sake, I said I’m sorry, didn’t I!” Mitchell whined, throwing him a glare from beneath his messy hair which had fallen all over his face.

“That’s it.” Struggling to get up, Anders had to find support by touching all sorts of filthy surfaces he’d rather not be in direct contact with. His head was spinning by the time he was standing and he had to lean against the wall to not fall back down. Staring down at Mitchell who was still on the ground he said, “You’re coming home with me.”

“What!?” Mitchell asked with his brows raised, scrambling to stand up as well. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to get _something_ out of this shitty evening, and since the original plan was to bed you that’s what I’m gonna do,” he answered frowning, missing a few time before he managed to grip the man’s sleeve and pull him along as he started on his way home.

“But I just literally tried to eat you!” Mitchell protested but didn’t try to pull his hand free and kept following quite obediently.

“And by the end of this night I’ll be the one eating you out.” Halting at a cross road, Anders looked around a bit lost before he remembered which direction he should be taking. He then threw a grin at the other, “See how the tables turn?”

Mitchell didn’t appreciate the tacky humour, if the way he rolled his eyes at him was anything to go by, but there was a tiny tug at the corner of his mouth. Then he gave Anders a grave, serious look. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that maybe you shouldn’t go inviting your potential murderer into your flat.”

Stopping again, Anders turned to look at him with a matching frown. “You can just say ‘no’ if you don’t want to come. I won’t force you.”

This made Mitchell look a bit taken aback. “No, I-“ he said hesitantly, dropping his gaze to where Anders was still holding onto his sleeve. “It’s just that getting away from me would be the reasonable thing to do.”

“And that is the only reason you seem opposed to the idea of having my cock up your bum right about now?”

‘ _How_ c _rude_ ,’ he could almost hear Mitchell say under his breath before the vampire looked up, scratching his stubble. “I guess. After all, you’re-“

“Ridiculously gorgeous?” Anders threw in a vague guess.

“ _Intriguing_ ,” Mitchell corrected him. “And I suppose I would like to-“

“Spread your legs for me so that I can fuck your brains out?” Anders further guessed with a huge, suggestive grin on his face.

“Get to know you better,” said Mitchell after an unattractive snort. “But if it includes me getting laid, then all the more reason for me to follow you home.”

“So then we go home,” Anders concluded and after receiving a confirming nod, they were on their way.

* * *

“You’ve got a nice place,” Mitchell commented once they had stumbled into Anders’ flat. They’d headed directly into the bathroom where Anders was now struggling to get out of his clothes, having to bend over when the leg of his trousers got stuck around his ankle, unwittingly giving Mitchell quite the view of his arse. “Very nice indeed.”

“I didn’t bring you here to discuss interior decoration,” Anders said, turning on the shower after he had successfully gotten rid of his clothing. He sighed in relief when hot water started pouring on him, washing away the blood and other grime he might have touched. Mitchell took that time to pop open the tube of toothpaste Anders has tossed at him, squeezing it on his finger and then attempting to brush his teeth enough to get the taste of blood and bile out. It must have been the oddest form of foreplay he had ever taken part in, but Anders had refused to kiss him before his mouth was clean, so he obeyed, and did the best he could to live up to the other’s standards of hygiene.

“There, how’s that?” he asked, poking his head into the shower and showing his teeth in a way that made him look on the verge of lunacy.

Anders surveyed him critically, saying, “I’m not sure. C’here and let me have a closer look,” before he raked his fingers through Mitchell’s hair and pulled him closer so that he could kiss him. Their lips met, and just as Mitchell was starting to protest that his hair and shirt were getting wet under the shower Anders had yet shut, the other took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside his mouth, running it along Mitchell’s teeth. Moaning, Mitchell opted to just shut the shower himself and stepped further into Anders’ personal space so that he could respond properly.

Anders was wet and warm when Mitchell wrapped his arms around him, the slight humidity of the brief shower Anders had took making the atmosphere around them seem heavier as their actions grew more and more instinctual.

“Yeah,” Anders said when he had to pull back a bit out of breath, holding all the signs of arousal in his gaze. “Yeah, that’ll do.”

There was no mistake how the clean state of Mitchell’s teeth was the last thought in his mind when he said that. Next thing he was busy trying to unbutton and lift the vampire’s shirts off his torso, and Mitchell didn’t hesitate helping the other achieve this goal no matter how disastrous it might’ve been whilst walking backwards towards the bedroom having lost his eyesight somewhere within his damned shirt that refused to be removed and being distracted by Anders’ hands that were all over the place trying to either help or cop as many feels as they could.

When he finally got the offending garment off, tossing it onto the floor where it would find a mysterious place to hide in for the next three months, Mitchell was already falling backwards onto the bed. The bouncing landing made him laugh, his hair all over the place and hands sprawled as he felt the softness of high-quality linen underneath him.

Anders stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at him with an expression that could have meant a variety of things. Just before Mitchell could start feeling awkward under the scrutiny, the other grinned, saying, “I can definitely work with _this_ ,” before literally bouncing on him.

Mitchell let out a sound that was something between a yelp and a chortle, his quick reflexes catching the body thrown at him so that the collision would be less painful. He was about to question the man’s sobriety, but was soon cut off by the pair of lips eagerly pressed against his own, after which he just consented to receive all and everything he had been promised when he had agreed to follow this man home. Relaxing against the mattress, Mitchell mewled pleasantly when Anders’s adventurous hands explored his half-bared body.

His willing submission seemed to please Anders, and breaking their kiss, he pressed those now swollen lips against Mitchell’s ear, saying in a low voice rough with arousal, “I’m going to fuck you.”

Mitchell’s response was to moan shamelessly while his hips bucked involuntarily.

“You’re going to be splayed open on my bed and take what is given to you,” Anders continued with his heady promises, the imagery of it already filling Mitchell’s mind and making him achingly hard. The pressure in his jeans was certainly not relieved when Anders went to palm his trapped erection, the lack of immediate release making Mitchell’s eyes bleed to black from the frustration.

“None of that,” Anders said sharply with a voice that somehow differed from how he had spoken until this. Mitchell wasn’t in the state of mind to register this fully, all he knew was that he was suddenly hanging onto the man’s every word, ready to obey.

“You made me bleed and then dared to spit out my blood once,” he was saying, gripping Mitchell’s balls in his hand painfully tight. “Let this be a lesson to you on what I think about that. I’ll make you scream my name so loud the high heavens will file a complaint.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mitchell agreed through gritted teeth, struggling to have his eyes return to normal and releasing a breath of relief when Anders finally let go of his sensitive area. “Just hurry up with it.”

“Hurry up?” the other looked down at him with a mean smile. “Naw. I’m gonna draw this out, fuck you so slow and deep that it’ll drive you insane.”

“I don’t think you’d like my version of insane,” Mitchell said with a hitched breath when he gave room for Anders to litter his neck with small kisses and nibbles which all sent little ripples of shivers.

“Shut up. I know what you are, and that’s exactly why I’m going to make you yield.” Pressing his thigh between Mitchell’s parted legs, Anders let the man below him to gain much needed friction from the way his hips kept rolling against anything that would provide some of it. “I’ll make you come so hard you’ll forget who you are. I’ll-“

His litany of promises was cut short, when Anders too thought it would be a wonderful idea to let Mitchell know how hard he was as well by rubbing his cock against the man’s still jean clad thigh in a promising way, the only problem being…

“Huh,” Mitchell said, blinking owlishly and taking a moment to stare at the ceiling when he felt the state Anders was in.

“Fuck!” Anders cursed, banging his forehead against Mitchell’s collarbones in his frustration. “Fuck this! Can this evening get _any_ worse!?”

He got up quickly and sat down at the edge of his bed, covering his face with his hands to mourn all the promises he had just made which now laid dead along with his erection that had failed to show up. Behind him, Mitchell tried his best not to chuckle knowing how cruel it would sound, instead clearing his throat awkwardly before saying, “Given how much you’ve apparently drunk and the previous blood loss, this is hardly an unexpected outcome.”

“These are your words of encouragement?” Anders almost wailed, throwing a glare at the man over his shoulder. “Just how am I supposed to fuck you with a soft cock?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to,” Mitchell responded, now failing to sound anything but amused. It made Anders consider if he should just kick the man out of his bed right about now, but something stubborn in him still wanted to bend the vampire over and show him exactly what he was capable of doing to him.

While plagued with the indecision on what he should do with the conquest he had yet to conquer, another thought came to bother him, one which he hadn’t paid much attention to when sexual desire had been his driving force. “How come you didn’t kill me back there?” he wondered out loud, turning to look at the man. “What did I taste like?”

Mitchell’s gazed wandered elsewhere as he seemed to be recalling what had happened on the alley. When he finally remembered tasting something other than burning disgust followed by bile, he looked at Anders and shrugged, “Like blessings and prayers.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Annoyed by the bullshit answer, Anders turned his back to the man again, now more in favour of kicking him out, though his resolve faded as quickly as it had come, when he felt Mitchell’s knuckle press against his bare lower back, feather light in its touch.

“I guess it means someone believes in you,” Mitchell said with a voice that echoed the smile on his face and all the sincerity of a person giving an honest answer. And it made Anders’ heart race like mad, something inside him stirring like the powers which he had used on others were now being turned against him. Bragi must’ve been singing out his appreciation over those words, the white noise of his hymns spreading through his body like lukewarm waves, making the fine hairs of his body raise to attention and hands tremble ever so slightly.

“W-what are you doing?” Anders asked a bit out of breath while trying his hardest to keep the praise-starved god in check, when he felt Mitchell draw something on his lower back, the touch tickling his skin as the other’s knuckle circled around to form some kind of a symmetrical shape.

“I’m adding one of my own,” the man said, sitting up once it was done and leaning in to give an almost apologetic kiss on the teeth marks growing scab on his neck. “It’s an Irish blessing.”

“What does it mean?” Anders asked, although the answer was right at the tip of his tongue. The shape still tingled on his skin, like he had been branded with it, and if only Bragi would calm down a bit, he’d have the answer to what it meant.

But when Mitchell brought his stupidly pleasant to look at face so near that Anders’ gaze immediately gravitated to his lips, the god’s powers shut down as if it was refusing to tell when the vampire said, “I might tell you in the morning,” with hopefulness that verged on adorable.

“Fucking hell,” Anders muttered out to himself, before deciding to abandon the thoughts on throwing this guy out of his bed when everything seemed to be playing against him, including his own god. Mitchell received his onslaught of kisses eagerly, not at all protesting when he was pressed back to lie on the mattress where they then proceeded to make out to have a pre-taste of what the following day would bring once they got to have a proper taste of the promises Anders had previously made.

* * *

So he might’ve exaggerated about someday getting killed during one of his inebriated adventures, but in his defence, Anders would reluctantly say that Mitchell might have been one of the last such mistakes he’d ever made.

This thought occurred to him as he was crouching down on his bedroom floor, picking up a discarded sock when he spied something red sticking out from behind the radiator. When he went to pull it out, grimacing at the dust it brought with it, it turned out to be the shirt Mitchell had mysteriously lost three months back.

“Ah, you found it!” The vampire said upon walking into the room with more gathered laundry in his arms, the pleased smile on his face dropping rather quickly when Anders went to throw the thing into the bin. “Oi! Don’t just throw it away!”

“It’s filthy,” Anders argued, but let Mitchell snatch his shirt from him anyway. They both made a face at each other, and then continued the disgustingly domestic bliss they had somehow fallen into.

See, the trouble with Mitchell was that he had never really left, preventing Anders from making his usual mistakes by just being there. And if he so much as reconsidered whether or not it had been a mistake to invite a vampire into his home, the blessing on his skin would start to tingle, as if Bragi’s little crush on the endangered tongue Mitchell sometimes whispered into the dead of night was more important.

Just as he had again managed to calm the god down, something else stirred up when Mitchell stripped out of his clothes, leaving him standing in the pair of underwear he had put on in the morning, while he added the rest of his clothes into the pile of laundry. Seeing an opportunity if there ever was one, Anders smirked and padded over to cop a couple of feels before Mitchell could swat his hand away and capture him into a hug prison where kisses were his punishment.

And maybe, if this was what it would continue to be like being branded with _devotion_ and _adoration_ , he’d allow Bragi to have his little crush while understanding where it might stem from.


	8. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has happened, and Anders isn't sure he wants to known the whole truth of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Britchell Contribution Fest (Prompt 2/3) on tumblr! Not quite sure what I was aiming for with this. It kinda just wrote itself.

_No_.

Everything’s all wrong. Nothing is in its correct place. This much Anders can tell even through the ache threatening to split his head in two.

The room he’s in is not one he’s ever seen before. Its walls are a horrendous shade of moss green, and the bed he’s lying on has seen its prime two decades ago. The stench drifting around tells a tale of someone not bothering to take their smoking habits outside the flat.

 _Gods_ , could he use a smoke right about now.

The bed lets out a horrendous creak when Anders manages to throw his legs over its edge and sit up. The sudden motion makes everything spin.

Spin down and coil into panic. He doesn’t know where he is. Isn’t sure what has happened. This makes his stomach lurch and he desperately rushes into what he assumes is the bathroom and vomits into the toilet bowl that has stains no amount of acid is ever going to wash away.

This is why he got an education, he’s thinking as he heaves on the floor. To be able to afford to move out of a hell-hole such as this one. And he had never intended to return into one if he could help it. Though as usual, fate seemed to have other plans. What a cunt.

Quickly, he splashes water on his face and gurgles his mouth clean, spitting it all out because he daren’t drink from pipes the Romans themselves have probably built. When he raises his head to look into the mirror, the sight ain’t pretty.

His eyes are worryingly red, and he isn’t too sure if the darkness around his eyes is from lack of sleep or punches received. He’s pale, also, and he winches at the cut on the corner of his lip. As his eyes wander downwards, he sees cuts that can’t be anything but scratch marks and when he sees the three upmost buttons of his shirt have been torn off, he stops there, shakes his head and stumbles out of the bathroom.

Back in the bedroom, he leans against the hideous wall and tries to calm his breath, timing his inhales and exhales with the aid of the clock ticking on the wall, too loud in the otherwise quiet space.

He needs to get out.

Spotting his suit jacket at the foot of the bed, he goes to grab it as fast as he can so that he can just _go_ , but then he spots the yellow post-it on the bedside table, placed next to a packet of painkillers and a water bottle.

 _Good morning_ , it reads, already making Anders scoff.

_I know you said no hospitals, but I really think you should go check yourself out._

_In case you wake up as stubborn as you were yesterday, at least help yourself to some painkillers._

_There should be some cash in the drawer if you need to call a taxi or something. I really need to get to work now._

_Hope you are well!_

- _Mitchell_

The note explains nothing, but somehow it manages to calm Anders down enough that he slumps to sit on the bed, burying his face into his hands as he feels the rush of adrenaline and panic subside. Once he has taken his moment, he doesn’t hesitate accepting the small act of kindness, and swallows three white pills down dry, because he still doesn’t trust the water a place like this has to offer. He then peers into the mentioned drawer, seeing some change amongst the condoms, lube and tissues, doubting it was enough to even cover a bus fare. When patting through his own belongings, Anders finds his wallet untouched by thieving hands, counting enough bills to be able to hire a limo back home.

Sighing, he stands up again, this time without much rush, locates his shoes and goes to leave. The front door is already open to the staircase that smells even worse than the flat, when Anders pauses. Pulling out his wallet again, he takes out one of his business cards, writes on the other side of it and tosses it on the table next to the post-it note.

 _Thanks_.

And then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

Anders lets the hot water pour on his face as he stands in his shower. He’d long ago given up trying to wash his body vigorously with whatever soap he could first reach, because that just made him discover more and more bruising. There’s also scratches running along his back which sting under the heat, and could he remember how he had gotten them, he would have guessed he had had fun yesterday. As it is, he doubts that he did.

Vaguely he remembers leaving the office to attend a meeting with a pair of women who he had found too beautiful not to flirt with despite knowing it might compromise the deals in the making. The bought drinks had been on them and Anders had consumed the drinks while responding to their smiles in kind all the way until something went wrong.

A flash of a beautiful face twisting into a hideous snarl suddenly jumps from the depths of his memory. Anders’ whole body jerks violently, and he quickly shuts the shower, gasping for air.

_Nothing happened._

He’s not even half-dry when he’s already pulling a clean set of clothes on, covering whatever evidence his body is bearing from last night.

_Nothing happened._

Memories are fickle. They can’t be trusted. There’s no proof of them being true if no one is there to constantly wave glaringly obvious evidence to prove otherwise. They can be pushed back and ignored.

_Nothing happened._

Or rewritten, Anders thinks as he pulls out the bottle of vodka from the refrigerator. He doesn’t bother with a glass. There’s no need to play civilized, swirl his drink in a glass and remove the piece of fruit decorating the rim of it. It’s not like there’s anyone to impress in order to ensure both a business deal and a good fuck.

_Nothing happened._

He wonders if they had finalized the business deal. He wonders if he had gotten laid at the end of the evening. He wonders if whether or not wanting these things had almost gotten him killed last night.

_Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened-_

He wonders when his life had become so cheap.

 

* * *

 

“Nice to see you bothered to come to work today,” Dawn says a bit icily from behind her desk as Anders enters the office. Ty’s there too, turning to look at his entering brother with a little bit of disapproval for making things hard on Dawn, but not saying anything out loud.

“It’s good to be back,” Anders lies, heading straight to his own desk, trying to think of the words that would make his assistant back away with the load of work she’s sure as hell about to dump on his table.

“Read through these and sign them, please,” Dawn says and nods at the stack of papers she had put down when Anders had been too slow to think of an excuse, the size of which makes him groan. “Also, be so kind and call Mrs Hendrickson. She’s very unhappy with you and there’s nothing else I can do to calm her down. And since we’re on the subject of _doing your job_ , may I remind you that the deadline for that yacht club project is in two days, which should be of interest to you because their money would take care of our budgeting worries for the next half a year even if you should disappear on your _four-day_ excursions without any notice!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he agrees with his eyes closed, rotating his hand to encourage her to continue her rant. “What else?”

“What else?” She huffs out, placing her hands on her hips. “There are two new potential clients of whom I will tell you more about after you’re done with all that.” After pointing at the papers on his desk, Dawn goes to continue. “We got the credit card bill, and I would remind you of all the stuff you shouldn’t be wasting our money on if I had even the slightest hope you actually listened to me.”

“You done now?” Anders asks, banging his head against the back of his chair and resisting the urge to just turn away from the litany of responsibilities she was shoving at him.

Dawn gives him a nasty look, and Anders is sure that at this point she’s going out of her way to think of more things to tell him about just to give him a hard time. Which he admittedly deserves, though were Ty not standing there watching them, he would just find a divine way to convince her to leave him in peace.

“A guy named Mitchell-“ she begins to say then, and it’s like a lightning strike. Anders goes rigid and wide eyed, neck almost snapping as he turns to look at his assistant. Neither Dawn nor Ty miss his reaction, and a bit warily, Dawn continues after clearing her throat, “Yesterday a guy named Mitchell dropped by our office.”

“What did he want?” Anders asks a bit too quickly, not liking how Dawn and Ty share a look bordering on worrying before he receives his answer.

“He asked after your wellbeing.”

“Did something happen?” Ty speaks for the first time since Anders arrived, stepping a bit closer to his brother.

“Nothing happened,” Anders says, since it’s the only truth he’s willing to accept, then turning to look back at Dawn. “What was he like?”

She only shrugs, saying, “Pleasant.”

“ _Pleasant_?” Both Johnson brothers ask at the same time, tones varying between doubt and disbelief.

“Tall, dark and handsome. Had an easy smile,” she’s saying, her breath misting in time with the growing look of upset on Ty’s face. Finally she narrows her eyes and gives Anders a look like she doubted he’d understand her next words. “ _Polite_.”

“And he just dropped by asking how I was, did he?” Anders asks doubtfully, and when Dawn just nods, he tosses his hands in the air and yells in disbelief, “Who _does_ that?”

“ _Nice_ people do,” Ty says sulkily, gaze nailed to his feet.

“People aren’t _that_ nice,” Anders counters, “Are they Dawn?”

“I know you aren’t,” she says dryly.

“Thank you!” he says as if she’s just helped him prove his point, which just makes her roll her eyes and give up altogether. When she goes to leave, Anders hollers at her turned back, “Did he leave his phone number?”

“No, he didn’t,” is not the answer he wants to hear. After she has stomped her way back to her desk, Ty comes to stand next to Anders, speaking in a low voice so that Dawn would not hear.

“Who’s this Mitchell?”

“I’ve no idea,” Anders says, brows furrowed. Apparently it’s not what Ty wants to hear either, because he looks at him like Anders was pulling one of his bullshit stunts again. Raising his hands up, Anders tries his best to look as honest as possible. “I’m telling the truth!”

“How come he knows you but you don’t know him?” Ty demands with a dark look.

“It’s-“ Anders starts to say, thinking what it really is. “Complicated,” is what he comes up with in the end, offering Ty a small smile, unaware how unsure it makes him look. “Look, the best I can do to ease your borderline creepy jealousy is to maybe arrange a situation where you might meet the guy. That sound thrilling?”

When Ty gives a small nod, Anders says, “Good, all right then,” because he will never admit he’d find reassurance in the presence of his little brother when meeting some guy he knew nothing about.

 

* * *

 

_Normal people would leave a phone number to call after paying a visit whilst one was away, since gaining contact with the other party was the original idea, but I digress._

_Seeing as I am lacking your number, I was forced to return to this piece of shit apartment building you have the misfortune to live in just so that I could deliver this letter, so be appreciative. That being said, I am writing this letter to inform you of the time and place I intend to meet you. Be there._

_-Anders Johnson, the PR guy_

Anders rereads through his letter, leaning his forehead against Mitchell’s door as he does so. He checks the time and place he had agreed on with Ty from the calendar of his phone before hastily writing it down on the bottom of the letter, then slipping the piece of paper back into its envelope and dropping it into Mitchell’s letterbox. He leaves quickly to avoid being caught in the act in case Mitchell was at home.

 

* * *

 

“Why the library, though?” Ty asks as he tries to settle into the chair and look like he’s comfortable holding a book this thick in his hands. Anders himself is too busy trying to blend in that he misses the opportunity to comment on how utterly Ty is failing.

“Strangers should be met in public places, were you not told this as a kid?” Anders asks as he’s leafing through the magazine he had grabbed from the shelf, not agreeing with the colour combinations that had dominated the range of high heels from last season.

He won’t tell Ty that it’s because he gets a power boost in places like this. Bragi likes bookshops as well, but free words that are available to everyone have always been the god’s favourite. And Anders would prefer if the god was on his side right now.

“I don’t know, was I?” Ty looks over to him, which makes Anders wave his hand angrily.

“Less talk, more subtle!” he orders. “Eyes on the horror section, little brother. Tall, dark and handsome should be there any minute now.”

“I thought we were supposed to meet him, not stalk the guy,” says Ty, burying his nose into his book and managing to look even more suspicious as he eyes around the library.

“First we observe, then we attack,” Anders reasons just before the back pocket of his trousers starts vibrating. “Shit, what’s this now?”

He looks at his phone and frowns at the unknown number showing on the screen. Despite being in a library and receiving a nasty look from a little old lady, he swipes at the screen to answer. “Hello?”

“If you’re trying to spy on me,” someone says both on the phone and directly behind him, making Anders almost have a heart attack. When he spins around, tall, dark and handsome is right there, smirking at him as he says, “Then you’re not doing a very good job.”

Anders and Ty take a moment to let their failure sink in, and then compare the figure against the description Dawn had given them. He’s tall, dark and handsome all right, and the smile on his face is easy for a moment, before the awkward silence has it turn a bit more hesitant.

“Where’d you get my number?” Anders asks suspiciously, because it sure as hell was not polite to sneak behind people to scare the shit out of them.

“You left me your business card, remember?” the guy says, taking it out from the pocket of his leather jacket and showing it as proof that he was not a creep. “It has your work related address and phone number and everything.”

“Oh,” Anders says, because that makes sense.

“Are you Mitchell?” Ty interrupts them, abandoning his disguise of an avid book reader and joining them in front of the women’s magazine section. When the guy pays notice to Ty for the first time, his eyes go wide.

“Y-yes,” he says quickly, looking oddly like was meant to be blushing even though no colour was rising on his face. Somehow, this reaction annoys Anders. Then Ty offers his hand for shaking, and it all seems to be a bit too much for Mitchell.

“Tyrone Johnson,” he introduces himself, and when he releases Mitchell’s hand, the guy draws it against his chest like it’s been burned. “I’m chaperoning my brother over here.”

“Are you a god as well?” Mitchell asks a bit shaken. This alerts both brothers.

“How do you know about that?” Anders asks sharply, not noticing how the books on the nearest shelf tremble when he gathers power from them to ensure the answer he’d get was truthful.

“You told me,” Mitchell says automatically, not speaking against his will because it was the answer he was going to give anyway.

“Why would I have told you that?” he demands next, eyes narrowed.

“You kept asking why your powers weren’t working against people like us,” Mitchell replies, this time a bit more reluctantly. “I asked what powers and you told me you’re a Norse god.”

“And what are you?”

“A vampire,” and this answer come through gritted teeth, Mitchell fully aware that he’s not consenting to this conversation at all. Ty notices this as well, and tries to come between them.

“Anders! There’s better ways to deal with this,” Ty says while placing his hand on Anders’ shoulder. Anders just shrugs it away angrily.

“I doubt it,” he says without looking at Ty. “Tell me more about yourself, Mitchell.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Ty says right afterwards, because vampire or not, he knows his big brother can survive anything laid out before him, while he’s not certain everyone can survive facing his brother. Mitchell looks helplessly between them like he doesn’t know which one he was supposed to listen to. In the end, the conflict makes his eyes water, and before either of the brothers can open their mouths again, he covers his ears, shuts his eyes and walks away.

“Huh,” Anders blinks. “That was weird.”

“I’ve seen people walk the opposite direction from you before,” Ty shrugs, feeling like he should somehow protect Mitchell from Anders’ intentions.

“No, he was listening to me just fine before you putted in, why’s that?”

They ponder on this for a moment before both seem to come to the same conclusion. “You’re his kinda god, ain’t ya?”

Ty groans, shutting his eyes and facing the ceiling. “Oh joy.”

“Whatever. You can go home, this is my business from now on,” Anders tells him, shooing Ty away before he goes after Mitchell in the hopes that the man hasn’t made it too far yet.

 

* * *

 

Mitchell has found a place to sit at the library’s backyard, and by the time Anders finds him, he’s already stomping out a cigarette before he lights another one. Anders makes the wise decision not to comment on it, just standing before Mitchell instead, sporting an expression like he was expecting something.

Raising an eyebrow, Mitchell holds out the packet of smokes. Anders accepts one without thanks before sitting down next to the guy.

“So you’re a vampire?” Anders asks casually after a long drag of smoke. It’s a poor conversation starter, he’s aware, but it’s better than getting straight to the point.

“Yeah,” Mitchell admits, this time without being forced, although it doesn’t matter much now that the truth is already out there.

“Has that got something to do with why I woke up in your flat?”

“I suppose,” Mitchell shrugs, not exactly looking at Anders as he does so.

Anders frowns. He isn’t quite sure how to go about this. He’s curious, but at the same time not too sure if he wants to know. He’s repressed the flashing memories about teeth and nails on his skin, cruel laughter and desperate words uttered out of his mouth. Mitchell might have a clearer view on what had happened, but is it really worth finding out?

“Something was about to happen,” Anders says carefully, taking another long drag and breathing it out before he continued. “But didn’t because of you.”

Mitchell looks at him, studying his profile as if to figure out what he was after. In the end, he opts to just offer him a small nod.

“Do I owe you my life?” Anders asks then, turning to look at the other right in the eye, searching for the truth from those deep brown eyes that crinkle from the corners when Mitchell smiles gently at him.

“You owe me nothing,” he says, making Anders’ heart leap. Then his expression morphs into a wicked grin, as he finishes his smoke and goes to stand up and leave, saying, “Although, if anyone asks, you’re mine.”

He throws a saucy wink at Anders and then he’s gone, leaving nothing behind but a pile of stumps on the ground and a prickling memory at the back of Anders’ mind.

 _What’s that supposed to mean?_ Anders sends a text to the unknown number he last received a call from, then saving it into his contacts under the name _Nosferatu_.

 _It means you’re protected from people like me_ , comes the answer, making Anders feel unnecessarily safe. He writes and backspaces a _thank you_ three times, before closing his phone and putting it back into his pocket without sending a reply of any kind.

 

* * *

 

Days go by.

Anders has been sitting behind his desk for too long. It’s making Dawn unreasonably pleased.

He’s drowning in the ideas he’s drafted down on papers. He’s making beneficial phone calls and is staying at the office making longer hours than even Dawn. Anders is doing everything in his power to ignore the one text message Mitchell has sent him.

_So, you wanna go out for coffee sometime?_

 

* * *

 

It’s dark. Night has fallen some time ago, bringing out dangers that can’t afford to expose themselves in the daylight. There might be one such danger screaming on the asphalt near his feet, but Anders can’t really tell, because he’s been pushed against a tile wall, trapped in place by a body that is sculpted of solid muscle and good intentions.

His mind feels light, thoughts disarrayed by the something extra slipped into one of the drinks he’d been offered earlier. The forming bruises on his body ache, and he’s sure the cause of them is the reason he’s still shaking, even though he’s held so tightly he can barely move.

Everything’s confusing, and a whole lot frightening, but amongst all the things he’d rather not remember if he lives to see another day, the one worthwhile thing this evening has brought to him is John Mitchell, standing as a barrier between him and the world’s ill intentions. His eyes are pitch black, and he handles Anders with inhuman strength, but he’s also careful not to hurt him, and sends down shivers of a different kind when he leans in to whisper against his ear, “You’re mine,” to make the others back away.

Anders has never felt as safe as he did right then.

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with a gasp, a thin veil of sweat covering him from head to toe. Taking a moment so assess the situation, Anders groans and hits his head against his pillow repeatedly.

He’s alone in his bedroom, awake at 4am and two strokes away from coming into his pants like a teenager. Again.

These frequent wet dreams of Mitchell were starting to become more a nuisance than an embarrassment. He’d thought they’d go away if he ignored them for long enough, but maybe his theory was lacking something. Frustrated, Anders reaches for his phone and opens the text message left unanswered for a week now.

_So, you wanna go out for coffee sometime?_

He reads it over and over, thumbing the delete option but never going as far as actually getting rid of the message. Who asked people out for coffee anymore anyway? Wasn’t that just the equivalent of _Hi, I wanna bang you hard against that tile wall back there, how about it?_

Which would have been easier to refuse, ignore and forget about altogether. All these niceties were just making him uncomfortable, unsure about where they stood and not certain what Mitchell was after.

_So, you wanna go out for coffee sometime?_

Anders reads it again, growing a bit delirious by the wee hours of the day and the hum of arousal he’d yet paid more attention to. He presses the touchscreen to write a reply, careful not to misspell. When he’s done, he lets his thumb hover above the send button and presses the edge of his phone against his forehead as he lets his other hand travel down his body that is starting to feel hot like the purgatory.

His legs twitch as he comes. He doesn’t even try to draw it out. Just goes for it. Adding pressure on the throbbing erection between his legs, rolling his hips and fucking his hand. His mind is so vivid when it skims on the border between dream and reality, that for a moment he actually thinks he can feel someone’s breath against his neck, mouthing the words, “You’re mine,” which burn into his being and make him groan something desperate against his pillow before he’s trembling and drawing into himself.

On the screen of his phone it now reads _Message sent_. Anders stares at it for a while, bleary eyed. Then he returns to the home view and shuts the screen, wondering what would come out of it. The last conscious thought he has before he falls asleep again is how pointless it was to worry about it now. He’d taken a step into some direction, be it a wrong one or something else entirely, and it’s not like he can draw back the response Mitchell has already received.

The main thing was that he’d finally set something into motion with one, simple word.

_Yes._


End file.
